The rain had been steady all afternoon, the kind that settles into the bones of a house. I was standing in my small back room, peeling potatoes beside the narrow counter I called a kitchen, when I heard the gate creak open.
“Grandma?”
I turned too quickly, my heart catching. “Ethan?”
He crossed the yard in seconds and wrapped me in a hug that felt stronger, steadier than I remembered. The last time I’d seen him, he was still figuring out who he wanted to be. Now, there was something grounded in him—quiet confidence, the kind you don’t question.
“I wanted to surprise you,” he said.
“You did,” I managed, still holding his arms as if he might disappear again.But the moment didn’t last. His eyes moved past me, scanning the room—the low ceiling, the portable heater, the medicine bottles lined along the sill. I watched the realization settle over him.
“Why are you out here?” he asked softly.
Before I could answer, the back door slammed
